Tales of Banks Peninsula/Chapter 11
No. 11.—Billy Simpson.
Probably the oldest living white resident on the Peninsula now lives at our Akaroa Hospital. He has been a fine-looking man. The features are marked, determined, and regular, and his high, broad forehead shows that his brains were of no mean order. There is a deep scar on the right brow, on which hangs a tale, of which more hereafter. Age and hardship have made him a mere skeleton, but there is still great vitality apparent in his bright eyes, which kindle when he is spoken to of old times. He has been, as most of the readers of the Mail know, residing at Mr McPhail’s, at Island Bay, but recently an attack of illness rendered it necessary to bring him to Akaroa for medical aid. Simpson is an old sailor, who was born in Berkshire just seventy years ago, according to his own account, though many fancy he is much older. He was early apprenticed to the owner of some vessels running in the West India trade, and he spent his time in the ordinary manner. When he had completed his time, he shipped for Sydney in a large ship called the Mary Ann. This vessel was built for troops, and took out the 28th Regiment to New South Wales. Her commander, Captain Smith, is described by Simpson as a perfect brute, and dire were the quarrels that took place between him and the men. This gentleman was familiarly known as “Pirate Smith,” and Simpson warmly asserts that he had as good a right to fly the death’s head and cross bones flag as Captain Kidd ever had. Arrived in Sydney, the crew struck and went ashore, refusing to go aboard the Mary Ann again. Brought up before the magistrates, the option was given them of sailing in the vessel or forfeiting their wages and clothes. They all preferred the latter alternative, and stopped in the Colony. It was at a time when whaling was the principal occupation of sailors in these seas, and in Sydney Simpson soon fell in with Captain Hempleman, who, finding him a good hand in a whale-boat, engaged him to go with him for a trip in the brig Bee, as boat-steerer, with one and a half shares. This was in the beginning of 1835, about forty-seven years ago, so Simpson must have been about twenty-three years of age at the time.
Captain Hempleman had been in command of several big ships before this time, though quite a young man, but had left a large vessel, an English whaler, named the James Calvert, at the Sandwich Islands, owing to some dispute, and therefore had, much against his will, to accept the command of the brig Bee, a small and inconvenient vessel compared to those he was accustomed to. Long and Wright were the names of the owners of the Bee, and they fitted her out for a cruise to New Zealand, where whales were then reported as specially plentiful. One reason that Captain Hempleman accepted the command of the Bee was, that he was permitted to take Mrs. Hempleman aboard. They would not allow her to be aboard the larger vessels, and he did not like leaving her ashore, so he took a short trip as mate in the ship Norwood, of Sydney, and then took command of the Bee, and, amongst other hands, shipped Billy Simpson, the hero of this memoir. Mrs. Hempleman, the first, who afterwards died at Peraki, was an English girl, who had came out as an immigrant to Sydney.
The voyage of the Bee to New Zealand, and what success they met with, has been previously recorded in these stories, and Simpson says the account is a most correct one. The place where the whaling was carried on, the name of which is not mentioned in the log, was Peraki, but Simpson is very indignant about it being said that they cut poles for the houses in Pigeon Bay, for he vows they never went there. On mature reflection, however, he says he remembers that Port Levy was then called Pigeon Bay, and that it was there the poles were cut. The trip of the Bee was a very successful one, and Hempleman was so pleased with Peraki that he determined to return to it if possible. On his arrival in Sydney he was still more anxious to do this, from the fact that Messrs. Long and Wright raised the old objection to his carrying his wife aboard the vessel. He therefore persuaded a Sydney firm, named Clayton and Duke, to let him establish a whaling station on shore at Peraki. He was to be visited at intervals by vessels, which would bring provisions and take the oil away that had been collected. It was just Christmas time in the year 1836 when the schooner Hannah set sail from Sydney with the first white men who had ever attempted to form a settlement on the then savage, wooded, and mountainous tract of country known as Banks Peninsula.
The Hannah had another shore whaling party to land in New Zealand, besides Hempleman’s. The destination of the other was Poverty Bay, but the schooner went to Queen Charlotte’s Sound. There they stopped for five or six weeks, and though the one party left them to go to the North, they had a good many additions to their ranks, many of the men forming connections with Maori women. There were four boats’ crews in the party, some thirty white men in all, Mrs. Hempleman being the only white woman. About a dozen Maoris accompanied them from Queen Charlotte’s Sound. The Hannah went first to Akaroa, where she stopped two days, before proceeding to land the party at Peraki. There were no whalers in these waters at the time, and the few Maori whâres were deserted, for it was just after the massacre by Rauparaha, and he had laid all the plantations waste, destroyed the pas, and driven the few people who escaped death or slavery into the interior. As, therefore, there were no provisions to be got from the Natives, or any object to be gained by stopping in the harbor, the Hannah sailed for Peraki the second morning after her arrival, and that same day landed the party at their future home. It was fine autumn weather, and many aboard were pleased with the idea that it was St. Patrick’s Day (being the 17th of March, 1836) when they landed. They soon got their things ashore, and commenced building their whâres. They used to sleep in casks for some time, and they were much delayed by going after whales, before they had the trying works and their own houses put up. Hempleman’s house was of sawn timber, brought from Queen Charlotte’s Sound. There was no time for planting. It was just arranged that one boat should be on the fishing ground at daybreak one morning, and another the next, and of course when whales were got they had to be tried out. Very few amongst the men knew anything about whaling at all. Captain Hempleman was a really good hand, but he was always drinking. A sad accident, too, depressed them much. Mr. Beers, or Bean, was an excellent headsman, in fact, got most of the whales that were caught. One day his boat was upset in returning to the shore, and he and three of the hands were drowned. Two of these were Sydney natives, fine fellows, who knew their work, and could ill be spared in the little settlement. Beers, it is thought, might have escaped easily, as he was a good swimmer, but he had a heavy monkey jacket on at the time, and in swimming after the hands to get them to the boat, so that they could hold on, the coat became saturated with water and dragged him down. He was very deeply regretted indeed.
At this time Simpson heard from the Maoris a good many tales regarding Rauparaha’s invasion, and he had previously been shipmates in the Bee with one of those who escaped. The account he gives of the matter, as related to him by the Maoris, is as follows:—Some time antecedent to these events, a Ngatiawa chief named Pahi had visited Europe. He was much impressed with the customs of civilised nations, especially with the fact that wars were usually made against people speaking a different language. He brooded deeply over this idea, and when he returned, he formed the ambitious idea of doing away with the inter-tribal discords, and making the Maoris a strong, united people, capable of waging war on other places beyond New Zealand, and of repelling any foreigners. In the North, amongst his own people, the idea was well received, but he then wished to go through the South, and for that purpose announced his intention of coming across the straits to Taiaroa, who was the leading chief of all these tribes, though he resided in Otago. He came across, but the old feeling of hatred to the Northern tribes was still strong, and when he got to Kaiapoi he was treacherously murdered by a rangitiera named Tangatahira. The great Northern chief Rauparaha vowed revenge, and right royal “utu” he took for the assassination of his friend. Rauparaha induced the captain of a trading brig, named the Martha, to take himself and a number of his warriors to Akaroa. He had no money to give him, but he proffered a few of those preserved human heads which were then such a common article of traffic, being sold as curiosities for the museums of the old world, and he promised to fill the vessel with pigs and flax as “utu.” Directly the Maoris landed, however, they immediately began to massacre all the Natives they could meet, and all the survivors fled to a strongly fortified pa at the end of that Peninsula running out between Duvauchelle’s and Barry’s Bays, now in the occupation of Mr Birdling. The position was a strong one, and it was several days before the attacking force gained an entrance to the pa, but when they did, a most horrible carnage ensued, many of those taken being killed in the most terrible manner. The Maori who was with Simpson in the Bee told him that the conquerors seized many of the children, and, cutting their throats from ear to ear, eagerly drank the hot life blood as it flowed from the terrible wounds. They held high and hideous festival on the bodies of their dead foes, and Simpson says he has himself seen the huge copper Maori in which they roasted several corpses at a time. Bloody Jack was the Maori who held the command in defending the pa. He was not a chief, but his great fighting qualities had placed him at the head in this time of desperate danger. He and many others escaped after the last successful assault, and found a refuge in the bush. Every plantation and whâre that the merciless victors could find, they utterly destroyed, so that famine should be the lot of the wretched few who had escaped them.
When their horrible work was done they went aboard the brig, and one cannot help thinking that Captain Stewart, who was the commander of the vessel, was rightly served for aiding the Maoris by carrying them on their bloody errand, when, instead of flax and pigs, these savages brought aboard a number of their wretched victims. He (Captain Stewart) remonstrated, but was warned that his fate would be a terrible one unless he obeyed Rauparaha in all things; and there is little doubt he would have been killed, had they not required his skill to take the vessel back to Kapiti, which was their destination. The voyage must have been a fearful one for captain and crew, for the Maoris kept murdering their prisoners, and cooked their flesh in the ship’s coppers, greatly to the horror of the sailors, who insisted on them being at once destroyed when the Maoris left the ship.
One terrible incident seems to stand out in bold relief. When the Martha came up the harbor, Rauparaha and his men hid themselves under the hatches, and told Captain Stewart to make signals to the shore that he wanted to trade, in the hope that some unsuspicious Native might be lured aboard and become their victim. The experiment succeeded only too well. A chief of importance seeing the signal, and thinking the Martha was an ordinary trading vessel, came on board with his daughter, and was instantly seized and bound. During the terrible time of the massacre ashore they were left in the hold of the vessel; but when these demons were once more clear of the land they loosed him and taunted him with the horrible and bestial tortures and indignities they were going to inflict on his daughter as well as himself. Determined if possible to save the poor girl from the indescribably horrible fate in store for her, the gallant prisoner managed to snatch a tomahawk from one of their fiendish persecutors, and killing the miserable girl with a single blow, threw her body into the sea, and tried to leap after it. In this, however, he failed, for before he could take the spring he was seized by his captors, who, baulked of their proposed atrocities on his daughter, promised him a death of intense agony. Well they kept their hideous promise! On their arrival at Kapiti, at the great feast at which they celebrated their successful raid, the wretched man was brought before them and tortured to death in a most hideous manner—by having red-hot bars of iron thrust through his body. Terrible indeed had been Rauparaha’s revenge!
Billy Simpson’s narrative had the effect of causing a gentleman residing in Akaroa to write to the Akaroa Mail the following letter, which will be found very interesting:—
The Onawe Massacre.
Sir,—I have read with great interest Mr. Simpson’s account of the massacre at Akaroa, but I think there are several statements therein that require correction. It is stated by him that Te Pahi was murdered at Kaiapoi by a chief named Tangatihira. This is altogether wrong, as he was murdered at Akaroa by a chief named Te Mairanui; and that is why his brother Rauparaha took revenge on the Maoris here. The correct version of the affair, as far as I can learn, is as follows:—About the year 1827 Te Pahi, or, as he was sometimes called, Rakakura, went on a voyage to Sydney, and from thence to England, where he was presented to King George, who took a great interest in the sable chief, and made him some hand some presents when leaving for New Zealand. Te Pahi took great interest in all he saw when in England, and on his return described the country in glowing colours to the Natives; also, the immense bodies of troops he had seen, and how they were dressed, armed, and drilled.
About a year after his return (this would be about the end of the year 1829), he made up his mind to make a friendly visit to the Natives of this island, and for that purpose sailed in a large canoe, accompanied by Rauparaha and about fifty followers, all armed with guns, some of which he had brought out, and some he had purchased at Sydney. They called at most of the pas along the coast, and were everywhere kindly received. They reached Akaroa about three weeks after their departure from the North. It is said by some that they walked overland from Cloudy Bay to Canterbury, but, from the nature of the country and the number of rivers which had to be crossed, this I don’t think at all probable.
The principal chief here at the time was named Te Mairanui, but whether he lived at Onuku or at Wainui, where there was a large pa, I am unable to say. However, it appears he had in his possession a large block of splendid greenstone, which Te Pahi happened to see, and, after admiring it, asked the chief for permission to take it back with him to the North. This was indignantly refused by Te Mairanui, who said, “It belongs to the tribe, and we are going to make mere meres (greenstone clubs) out of it.” “Well,” said Te Pahi, “If you don’t give it to me I will come and take it,” and with that he left for the other pa, at which he was staying. On telling Rauparaha about the greenstone being refused to him, he said, “Tell Te Mairanui that if he does not give it to you we will make a prisoner of him instead, and take him back with us.” This message was duly delivered the next day, and still the greenstone was refused. Next morning, Te Pahi and six others went across to the pa, and, as usual, sat down. Each had a loaded musket in his hand. Te Mairanui and his men had had a talk, and agreed amongst themselves, if he came again to demand the greenstone, that they would kill him; so when they saw them come with the guns they formed a plan, and they were rushed from behind, and all of them clubbed to death, their own guns being used to finish them. The Maoris then commenced to fire them off, the sound of which was plainly heard by Rauparaha and the others. Shortly afterwards a canoe came down, bringing word of the fate of Te Pahi and his men.
Rauparaha heard the news of the death of his brother’s party, and was very “pouri,” but did not attempt to be revenged at this time. He said to his men, “Tenei a na kino mahi tan ka hoki ki te kianga” (this is bad work; we will return home); so, having got his men all together, he departed, vowing vengeance at some future time. On his way back he called at most of the pas where he had been well treated coming down, and laid them waste, killing great numbers of the Natives, who were not prepared for a mob of well-armed men like these. The pa which offered the greatest resistance was at the Kaikorai, where the Natives were well fortified on a small hill close to the sea. Rauparaha and his men attempted to take it, but were several times repulsed. He agreed to wait and starve them out, and, after doing this for a few days, he hit upon a plan worthy of a better cause. He said to two of his men, who were splendid swimmers, “I want you to go in the sea and pretend to be kekenos (seals); swim along the beach until you get opposite the pa, then come in and flounder in the surf, and they will rush out to kill you. We will watch them, and as soon as they leave the pa we will rush in.” The plan succeeded only too well. The hungry Natives in the early morning seeing, as they thought, two seals sporting in the surf, ran out in a body to take them, as their provisions had been exhausted for three days. Rauparaha had his men scattered round, so that possession was gained almost at once. And now the guns began to tell, and these poor Natives, wasted by hunger and continual watching, had not the strength to resist, so, after numbers of them were shot, the rest threw down their arms and surrendered. The men who were playing the seals paid the penalty of death, as they were caught before Rauparaha had time to relieve them. From this place about forty prisoners and a lot of greenstone were taken.
They then left for the Straits, and on their arrival found the brig Elizabeth, Captain Stewart, loading spars. A bargain was struck with him: that for fifty tons of dressed flax he was to land Rauparaha and fifty fighting men at Wangaloa, Banks Peninsula, and bring them back to the island of Te Manu, in the Straits. The captain agreed to this, but it is said, whilst he was down below with Rauparaha, over one hundred Natives came on board, and concealed themselves below until after the vessel was well outside. The Peninsula was made in two days, and the brig beat up and anchored abreast of the pa. All the Natives were out of sight under hatches, so that she was supposed to be a whaler, and as a good trade was generally to be done with them, some of the Natives put off to her. It happened that in the first canoe which boarded her were Te Mairanui, his wife, and a daughter, twelve years of age. Rauparaha was watching from the cabin windows, and came up on deck and seized him, and, with the assistance of some others, handcuffed him and put him, with his wife and child, below. A rush was then made for the ship’s boats, and what canoes were alongside, and all made for the shore, where a terrible scene of carnage ensued. All the Natives that could be seen were butchered in cold blood. The account of the fight on Massacre Island (Banks Peninsula) is, I believe, correct, as several of the victims were cooked and eaten ashore. At dusk the Natives came back on board, most of them bringing kits of human flesh with them, which were afterwards cooked on board; but I do not think it is true that any of the prisoners were killed on the brig and cooked, as stated by Mr. Simpson. Stewart, it appears, was in a terrible fright when he saw the way things were turning out, as he said he had no idea that there was going to be any blood shed over the affair; but this is rather doubtful, as he must have known on what errand the Natiyes were bound,
On the passage up to the island of Mana, between the Straits and Kapiti, the prisoner, Te Mairanui, was tied by a rope to the main-mast, so that he could walk about a little. His daughter was allowed to run about on deck, so he called her to him and said, “They are going to kill me and make a ‘taurereka’ (slave) of you, but that will never happen,” and, picking her up, he knocked her brains out against the hatch combings. After the arrival of the brig, Te Mairanui and the other prisoners were taken ashore. He was given two days to cry, and was then to be killed. The story of red-hot ramrods being run through his body is, I believe, incorrect. He met his death in the following horrible manner: A straight tree about fifty feet high was chosen, and to the head of this a block and haulyards were rigged up. One end was fastened to his heels, and, head downwards, he was run up and let go with a run, striking the ground with great force. Three times this was repeated; he was then hauled up clear of the ground and the veins of the neck opened, and the first to drink his blood was the widow of the murdered chief, Te Pahi. He was afterwards taken down, cooked, and eaten.
Shortly after this, Stewart interviewed Rauparaha about his cargo of flax, which was promised to him, but he was very insolent, and refused to give it to him. He was afterwards given one ton, and that was all the payment he ever got for his share in the bloody transaction. He loaded up with spars and sailed tor Sydney. The news of this horrible massacre had preceded him, and there was some talk of his being tried for his complicity in the affair; but, owing to the lax state of the laws in New South Wales in those days, it was allowed to blow over. Not caring to go back to New Zealand, Stewart cleared for a South American port, and was never afterwards heard of. It is supposed that the brig and all hands were lost. It is supposed by some that the discoverer of Stewart’s Island and the captain of the brig Elizabeth were one and the same person, but this is not so. The Captain Stewart, after whom the island was named, was a man very much respected, who gave up the sea and settled down in Poverty Bay, where he died in the year 1844.—Yours, etc.,G.J.B.